beginning the end
by Roses of Sharon
Summary: Legolas is leaving, but he has many, many things to do first; many people to say goodbye to, some of whom aren’t even there. Christmas gift!fic for Calenlass Greenleaf.
1. beginning the end

Summary: Legolas is leaving, but he has many, many things to do first; many poepel to say goodbye to, some of whom aren't even there. Christmas gift!fic for Calenlass Greenleaf.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Lord of the Rings_.

beginning the end

Aragorn is brother, is childhood and loyalty and promises upon stars, upon leaves. Aragorn is King; more King, in many ways, than Father is, because Aragorn was born King. Majesty and nobility flow in his veins like blood, only maybe more important. This is what he thinks, anyways. _Green Leaf_, the trees whisper. _Will you not stay?_

The trees sound remarkably like Aragorn, he notes. _Brother, will you not stay? _The words echo in his mind, long after the final parting. Not words from Aragorn's lips, perhaps, but words that hover between the two nonetheless. _Brother, why do you leave?_

Aragorn does not need to force a smile, but the expression on his face at the news is grave, solemn; as unhappy as a smile is permitted to be. "I see," he had replied. "If there is anything you need, Legolas, you know you need only ask." And then they clasp forearms and then they part, Aragorn for his throne and Legolas for the sea.

There are more words left unspoken between the two then there are words said, but Aragorn is the brother of his heart, of his blood and soul and spirit, and he knows.

_I will miss you_, _I will love you_, _I hope to see you again_, rings unsaid long after the two have parted. And so Legolas begins his departure from Middle Earth, with a promise from his brother and luck and love from the Undomiel. The Lady Evenstar understands, he knows. She understands the call of the Sea.

He almost wishes he had something calling against it, as she does.

But the Sea is already too strong for him, calling him endlessly, relentlessly, and he finds that he cannot even wish to defy it.

---

Legolas does not need to - and cannot - bid farewell to the ringbearer, for he will see him again, on the distant shore. But Frodo will be different, there; no longer the happy, carefree innocent that he was before the War, no longer the tortured individual he was at the end.

And so Legolas bids farewell to his memory, and to the Quest, and to the Ring.

Frodo was the embodiment of all that, he thinks. Of the Fellowship, of the long journey and bitter hardships and the ending, so anticipated.

So Legolas sits in the shadow of trees and silently, silently tells Frodo that it was all worth it.

Because it was.

---

There is no Boromir to say goodbye to either, no strong warrior who never believed, not until the very end.

There is no way to blame Boromir for what he did, Legolas knows. There is no way to blame Boromir for what happened, because Boromir had never believed in the Quest, never believed in the Fellowship.

And yet he had fought. Even without belief, he had fought and died for the Quest.

And if Legolas had been only a minute faster, a little stronger, a lot better, then Boromir would not have needed to die at all. He would have been glorious, Legolas believes. He would have been glorious if he had survived. He had been beautiful before, for Gondor; with the light of faith in him, he could have outshone the stars.

Aragorn could have used him well, he thinks. Aragorn could have used him well. And made him believe, because for all that Aragorn is only human, he has the hands of a king and the heart of… of a healer, a lover, a god. Aragorn inspires faith like others inspire fear.

And Boromir needed faith, needed something to believe in. Because Boromir had ever only duty, duty to Gondor and father and brother and future wife. And Boromir needed something to believe in, Legolas knows now. Duty was not enough to keep him alive.

Legolas has duties too, manifold and _Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood_ has duties, but he has forsaken duty for the call of the Sea. He is not needed in Mirkwood now. Perhaps someday he will return, but not now.

And so he sets his face towards the setting sun and travels on.

---

He had heard much of the gardens of the Shire, of Samwise Gamgee, and rejoiced for Lothlorien's gift, so well used. Sam, he thinks fondly, could almost have been the hero of the Quest, of the story.

But Legolas arrives in a Shire that does not recognize his name or his face and has barely heard of his Quest, and his search for Meriadoc and Peregrin and Samwise are cut short by his awe of the tree that blooms there in the meadow. "[NAME OF TREE]," he breathes.

"Yes," a voice behind him agrees, "and you are…?" The voice trails off as Legolas turns, and shock crosses the broad face. A face made for smiling, Legolas notes, as all hobbit faces are.

"Samwise Gamgee," he says, and smiles. It has been long since he has seen hobbits. "It is good to see Lothlorien's gift put to such use."

Sam swallows almost compulsively, blinks several times. "Legolas?" he breathes at last, and it is with a faint note of disbelief, a bit of wonder. "Is that really you?"

Perhaps it has been longer than he remembers - has it really been so long? Time flies these days, as he sits secluded in the courts of the King and works on his great ship, the ship that will bear him away from Middle Earth and towards the land of his forefathers.

"Of course, _mellon nin_," Legolas says, and the whisper of a smile crosses his face. "Did you expect to never see me again?"

Sam smiles, then, suddenly and brightly. "Last I heard, you were in the court of the King." The taller, blonder elf nods. "You could be there as well, if you so desired." And that is true; there will always be a home for the hobbits, wherever Aragorn is.

"No," Sam says. "I'll stick to the Shire."

That night they dine together; Legolas and Sam and his family, and in the morning Legolas sets off.

---

Legolas says goodbye to Pippin first and Merry last, and then he is off. These hobbits are not like Sam, not made for philosophizing and talking about history and the past and Aragorn's doings. These are hobbits who should have been born knights and warriors and heroes, but they are happy where they are, and so Legolas is happy for them.

---

So Legolas returns, returns back home, to his ship and to his best friend and his brother.

In his heart, he bids farewell to Gimli - when they arrive, he knows, Gimli will be different; they will all be different. So he bids goodbye to his best friend, his companion through all his journeys.

And then he goes on, hoping to begin new ones.


	2. extra version one

_Legolas_, he whispers. _Green Leaf_. _Who was that? _he wonders, and it is a soft wondering, a whisper in his mind as though coming through years of webs and silk and light.

_Brother_, they tell him, and in his mind's eye he sees a king, strong and tall and noble, more noble than any man has the right to be. A king without a kingdom, with a broken sword at his side and a dream and a goal and a past, terrifying and unknown.

_Hero_, they tell him, and he thinks that he remembers - remembers a man, tall and dark and striking and strong, with a blade in his hand shining like the sun, and a country behind him (beside him).

Remembers a dwarf that he _hatesloves _like a brother, and a quest that he didn't quite believe in and a dream that he did; four boys the size of children who saved the world; a _nonevertooold_ wizard with a beard like granite, and then like snow.

And himself, young and proud (arrogant, he says, and laughs) and full of that self-righteous belief, that belief that allows no shadow, no doubts. It is the belief that allows him to walk on snow and across rivers on dangling threads, that allows him to kill and fight and destroy, because he believes.

He believes that he was right and they were wrong, and so death was inevitable, for one or the other. And he always chose himself; more than himself, he thinks now, hopefully. Maybe more than himself, maybe more than out of a (_selfish_) desire to see the next dawn, the next sunset.

Maybe he fought for a dream, a goal like moonshine and sunlight, that permeates his dreams still. _Freedom_, he thinks, and changes his mind. Not freedom alone, surely, and not only peace - for who wages war for peace, who enslaves for freedom?

But there must have been something there. Loyalty, perhaps. Kinship.

There was something there, but he hardly remembers it now.

And there is no one left to remind him.

He supposes that, if he were to return (_if he could, if he still knew the way_), then maybe there would still be something there, something to remind him - Aragorn's son, perhaps, or his son's son, or maybe something past that. It has been a long time; he cannot remember how long.

Maybe Arwen, the Lady Evenstar; perhaps Elrond Half-Elven, perhaps even Galadriel, Maiden of the Garlands… or perhaps not. _I will go into the West, and diminish, and remain Galadriel_, he remembers hearing her say, once upon a time, and so… maybe he could find her here, if he truly wished to.

His hand twitches, as though in an aborted effort to stand, now, and seek her out.

But he will not, and he knows this; he has grown complacent, in these years. He is no longer made for stargazing and leaf-watching, no longer content to see the seasons pass and the trees grow and lose their leaves and spread.

He is made for adventuring, maybe; heroism. But what is there to explore, here? What is there to fight for, now that Sauron and Saruman the great Evil have been defeated?

He has already obeyed the call of the sea, as the Lady once told him he would; what more can he search for?


End file.
